


To Find a Million Grains of Sand

by Gotcocomilk



Series: Coco Writes Soulmates [9]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Accidental Soul Bond, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Kurosaki Ichigo, BAMF Urahara Kisuke, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, He gets better i promise, Hurt/Comfort, Loyalty, M/M, Soul Bond, Temporary Character Death, hollow world building because fuck kubo, story not as sad as the summary suggests
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24423736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gotcocomilk/pseuds/Gotcocomilk
Summary: Ichigo died as all the greatest men in stories died— as a sacrifice for love and family.Kisuke wished he had lived for them instead.Or: Ichigo was always a bit too hollow for the world he was supposed to save.
Relationships: Kurosaki Ichigo/Urahara Kisuke
Series: Coco Writes Soulmates [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1681417
Comments: 13
Kudos: 218
Collections: UraIchi Week 2020





	To Find a Million Grains of Sand

**Author's Note:**

> This will eventually have spoilers for the full manga, be warned peeps. It's also mostly drafted so I'm hoping updates won't take too long (and that it won't grow any longer...)

It was Kisuke who saw the hollow first, but he didn’t see the whole hollow.

The fake sun above his head was bright and cheery, but the eyes that carved into his skin were brighter still. The mask matched them, hungry and the unsettling white of bone. It gleamed in the light of Kisuke’s training cave, eerie and hungry as a beast.

A mask with stripes of orange like the sunset. Fitting, Kisuke thought, as he dodged blow after earth-shaking blow. Kurosaki really was as bright as the sun. He was bright enough that the shadows lingering beneath Kisuke’s skin grew darker with every plan and breath.

By the time Kisuke saw the hollow, he was stained black.

Kisuke saw it first, because he’d forced Ichigo to become a monster. He had done this, just as Aizen had all those decades ago. The hollow was his fault, and Kisuke didn’t let himself regret it.

It was the kind of creature that had stepped from the nightmares of a thousand soul reapers, from the depths of Hueco Mundo on two feet and a thousand corpses. Those horns could scrape the sky and leave it sundered.

It was too close to human for comfort, too eerie to dismiss as a monster. The attacks were too strong, but Kisuke could only pack the knowledge away and mull over it. He didn’t have time to test that strength, not when the Hōgyoku dangled near Aizen’s fingertips.

So Kisuke saw the hollow first, but he did not look deep enough to see the second one.

Perhaps it was Masaki, long decades ago and with steady hands on her bow, that saw that one first. She had been a protecter too, and it was her will that burned in Ichigo.

Perhaps she had seen it when it corrupted something inside her soul, on the day she protected a stranger. Perhaps she knew what lingered deeper still, and what could be tarnished.

Perhaps Masaki had seen the second hollow. Or perhaps it was Aizen, standing above a creature he had pieced together from a thousand folded layers of a thousand souls.

Perhaps he had smiled.

But that could only have been a fleeting glimpse, only the first layer of two. He had seen the hollow, but he had not seen the whole.

It was Byakuya, on a clear day when his sister was set to die, who saw the whole. It was Byakuya, who felt a horn stab through his chest like his bones were made of paper. He barely had the strength to raise his hands and stand before his sister after that, body shaking from a monster’s strike. Aizen’s sword punctured the same hole the Kurosaki boy’s horn had carved through, sharper but no less rough.

Byakuya didn’t know whether to be offended or angry. He settled on protective instead, with Rukia’s body trembling in his hands. He settled on grateful, kneeling on the ground and holding Hisana’s sister close.

He was grateful that the monster had beaten sense into him. He was grateful to the boy too, and the determination that shone like fire from bright eyes.

But, above all else, Byakuya was grateful to the monster.

It was Byakuya who saw both hollows, but it was Ichigo who would control them.

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

_You claim to be King, huh? You claim to be strong, but here you are, broken and pathetic. You’re so weak, but that’s alright. We’re strong. We won’t let us fade into the sands._

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

Urahara Kisuke was a complicated man that wore a simple skin. But the skin was all most people saw, the laugh and the lazy slouch drawing the eyes, the candy-bright smile and the planned scruff on his chin.

Kisuke was a complicated man, but people only ever saw the skin. It was a part of him too, part of the life he’d crafted in a hundred years of learning to live under his own banner. He enjoyed it, as much as he could enjoy anything in the depths of an exile he had caused. 

Kurosaki Ichigo never saw the skin at all. The boy with the bright eyes never judged the skin, scowling past its shattered corners.

Kurosaki, as Kisuke was beginning to understand, didn’t need to see or know to forgive.

Kisuke had never felt more vulnerable, in the moments after he knelt to apologize for sending the boy to die. He had never felt more shock, when Kurosaki stared him down and told him to get the hell up.

There was no doubt in Kurosaki’s eyes, and nothing but a straightforward trust that felt like it cut into Kisuke’s skin. It wasn’t the blind trust of a fool, or the earned trust of a friend.

It was the trust of a king, in his own strength and the strength of his will. It was a trust Kisuke would never break again.

Forgiveness came so easily, to the boy with bright eyes and a scowl deeper than Kisuke’s guilt. Forgiveness came too easily, when Kisuke hadn’t even finished using him.

He couldn’t kneel enough to fix that, but he would try. He would try anything, to fix what he had done. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

Dust spilled through the air as the aftershocks of an attack rocked the ground. It threaded through the room, misting under the shimmering barrier and catching on the fine white of Shinji’s pants.

It stained them a dirty brown.

He narrowed his eyes, sword slung across his shoulders but arms ready to draw it in a heartbeat. There was a fight raging inside the barrier, fierce and vicious as a thunderstorm. It made a bad taste linger in Shinji’s mouth, centuries of battle-instinct on the knife edge of angry.

Shinji hadn’t dealt with such an annoying situation in at least a century. The last time, well. Shinji still had some blood to collect for the last time, and more heads to leave rolling across the floor.

Let Sōsuke’s pretty haori get dusty and grimy. Shinji would press the bastard’s face to the ground right next to it, helpfully removed from his head.

Wouldn’t want the asshole to have to crane his neck, after all.

But Shinji couldn’t kill this situation, not yet. Kurosaki Ichigo was one of them, one of Kisuke’s people, bright and proud and so damn strong. The kid could help them fight in a way Sōsuke, with all his careful planning, could never anticipate.

So Shinji couldn’t kill the monster growling across the barrier.

But Ichigo had to actually control his growth, and that was going to be a problem. It was Shinji’s problem too, since Kisuke had asked the favor.

The damn kid didn’t know the meaning of limits. The hollow howling out of Ichigo’s skin didn’t seem to know either, not when it roared and raged so fiercely. It was evolving too, with each fight and each breath. The last round it had fired a cero that almost took Lisa’s hand off and shook Hacchi’s barrier until dust cracked through the kidō like lightning.

Shinji’s pants weren’t going to survive this without stains. 

Dangerous. The hollow was far more dangerous than any of visoreds had been, with horns that cut sharper than a knife and cero that formed from every finger like child’s play.

It was worse than anything Shinji had expected. It wasn’t as bad as Kisuke had warned it could be— damn the man and his thousand plans— but it was still too much.

He clicked his tongue, felt the shifting tension float from six bodies. The visored had fought and trained and lived together for a century, and he could taste their moods like the flavors of soba.

They were all worried, a deep and uneasy spice none of them could suppress. They were all bruised too, and that mattered more.

They couldn’t fight like this for much longer, not without fighting to kill. As much as Shinji didn’t like problems, he liked killing kids much, _much_ less. The thought of destroying Kurosaki left a bad taste on his tongue, and he didn’t like it. 

There was only one option, unless they wanted to put Ichigo down like a feral beast. If they even could, Shinji thought grimly, without at least one bankai and a hell of a lot of fire power.

No, he didn’t like that at all.

“Be back,” he said, lazy and quiet. The others all nodded, over the echoing roars of a hollow that was more human than it should have been.

They all nodded, and Shinji could taste their worry grow.

The air outside greeted him like an old friend, breeze catching his face and running through the threads of his hair. It ran teasing fingers over his pants too, and whisked away some of the dust.

Shinji didn’t stop to soak in the sunshine.

“Hey, damn cat,” he said at the edge of the wall, where the warehouse vanished and the outside world began. The barrier was a shade thinner than it should have been, a shade distracted.

For the first time, Shinji tasted his own worry in the air too.

Yoruichi leapt down from the wall before him, tail flicking to stir the dust on the abandoned road. She always looked calm, never a hair out of place or a paw moved without care. Even breaking out of the bone-white walls Seireitei and leaping into the world of the living, she had looked calm.

What a brat, he thought, with the smirk of a criminal.

“We ain’t enough. Get Kisuke and Tessai.”

There was a pause in the flick of that elegant tail, and Shinji could almost see the dust land on black fur. If cold worry didn’t linger on his tongue, he would have mocked that. Maybe he would anyway, when the princess came back with help.

“He’s that strong?”

The question was surprised, carried on the dust and another flick of long tail. Shinji blew out a breath, slow and sharp.

He wished he didn’t taste her worry too.

“It ain’t really him that’s strong, princess.”

She vanished quickly after that, in a flash of power that Shinji could barely see. He didn’t watch, eyes lingering on the sun above for a long minute. With Kisuke and Yoruichi to help in the fight and study the effects, they had a chance at saving the kid. With Tessai to help Hacchi hold the barrier strong and steady, they would succeed.

As long as Ichigo didn’t fall into his own darkness, Shinji thought, turning to walk back into the warehouse. As long as the hollow wasn’t stronger than even Kisuke had planned for.

The sound of howls echoed through the halls like screams.

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

According to Kisuke’s initial calculations, Kurosaki’s battle with his inner hollow should have taken approximately 65 minutes. Long, long enough to strain the lower level barrier kidō and make for a tough fight, but not as long as some.

It was a doable battle, and Kisuke had prepared for it, sending for Shinji and the others and building a space to contain Kurosaki’s hollow. He had prepared for one twice as long too, because he had not survived until now by preparing for only what his estimates predicted.

Then the reports of the battles in Seireitei came in. Then reports of Kuchiki’s defeat came in, and Yoruichi’s efficient and brutal descriptions of the hollow’s strength. Then Isshin had reported the nightmares, and Kisuke’s sensors had broken and shattered from what they found.

Then Kisuke revised those estimates, smiling and cheery and grim.

According to Kisuke’s secondary calculations, Kurosaki’s battle should have taken approximately 165 minutes. He had planned accordingly, as he always did. The visored at full strength should have been enough, with Hacchi’s barriers strengthened by Kisuke’s own preparations, laid into the stone around the fighting ground.

It should have been enough, and so Kisuke asked Yoruichi to keep watch, because they had not survived a hundred years of Aizen searching for them without plans on plans on plans.

Shinji’s summon reached him 85 minutes and ten seconds after the battle began. It didn’t take him more than 55 seconds to gather supplies, not when Kisuke had planned for this as he did everything. He was standing before Hacchi’s barrier on the 87th minute, Tessai and Yoruichi beside him.

It was not enough.

According to Kisuke’s third set of calculations, made as he fought and bled beside Yoruichi, Kurosaki’s battle should have taken 203 minutes. 

It took 401 minutes.

Kisuke had, for the second time in his life, not prepared enough. They survived anyway, through injuries and broken bones. Kurosaki survived too, and Kisuke had never felt sweeter relief. He had never felt guiltier too, as white horns broke and shattered to land in the dust at Kurosaki’s feet.

He had not planned for this.

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

It only took a day for Kurosaki to search him out after the mask cracked. It was just as long as Kisuke had predicted, one sleepless night lost to a new set of calculations.

He didn’t think that they would stay correct for long. 

“I need you to train me,” the boy asked, words echoing into the quiet air of the shop. They were as firm as Kurosaki’s eyes were, but the slouched shoulders had a hint of something Kisuke hadn’t seen before.

It looked like fear.

He hummed into the air, tasting the lingering hint of blood on his tongue. A punch to the gut with hierro-coated skin would leave anyone a bit hurt, but Kisuke had always been good at trading broken things for bruises.

It was a skill he’d had a long time to perfect.

There was a hollow he’d had put into the soul of this brilliant soul, and the shadows lingered in Kurosaki’s eyes and haunted him into fear.

Kisuke adjusted his hat. Then he adjusted the boxes on the shelf before him, and his grip on his cane. Then he turned to meet a problem he had created head on, with the gentle malice of his sword humming through his soul.

How very unlike him.

“Oh? Why me, Kurosaki-san? I’m sure that Hirako-san and the others would be happy to help you train more.”

His tone was light, and he slouched down to settle on the floor as he spoke. The shadows of his hat kept his eyes hidden, and it was as it should be.

Kurosaki-san, however, wasn’t. The boy clenched frustrated hands, knuckles going white and painfully tense in the shop light. There was fire burning in bright eyes, but it was banked and cooled, embers rather than open flame.

Where had the warrior gone, he thought for a single moment. But he knew the answer, as he knew the answer to most things.

Kisuke had given the warrior a monster to fight, after all. And Kurosaki had seen the wreckage of the visored, after those 401 minutes.

The boy had seen what the hollow lurking under his skin could do.

“It’s not enough, Urahara, and you know it. It’s too dangerous for them. I might—“

There was a pause, caught in ten breaths Kisuke watched click away like a timer. Few things made anyone pause for ten breaths. Kisuke should know— he had counted and watched people for years, to study the careful patterns of human behavior. It hadn’t been enough to understand Aizen, but it hadn’t been enough to understand himself either.

It was enough to understand this fear. 

“I will hurt them, and my friends,” came the response at last, spoken through a scowl and a clenched jaw. It was what Kisuke had expected, but the protective impulse never failed to make him smile.

A king stood before his subjects, after all.

“Oh? And you think you won’t hurt me, Kurosaki-san? I’m but a humble shop keeper, after all, I can hardly stand before someone who has invaded Soul Society.”

Kisuke’s voice was light, but it was quiet too, sewn together into the edges of a blade. He would be fine, even if the boy tried tearing him apart. He had Benihime and a thousand plans, bankai and all the preparations to stop a Vasto Lorde. Kisuke would be fine, no matter what happened here.

But did Kurosaki know that? Was this disregard for his safety or respect?

Kisuke wanted to know.

Bright eyes met his and seared into him, burning away the shadows Kisuke used to hide beneath. They looked like the eyes of a man who would live through a thousand wounds to protect a single life. They looked kind, and Kisuke could only watch them grow stronger.

Interesting, interesting. Kisuke liked those eyes. He liked the fire in them more, even if it hurt to see.

“Shut up, geta-bōshi. I know you’ll stop me, if I go too far,” Kurosaki said, with the conviction of a king.

It was more than respect, then. It was understanding, channeled into the edge of Kurosaki’s sword and the strength of his conviction. Kisuke let calloused fingers drum a rhythm across Benihime’s handle, and felt the stir of chained bloodlust sweep out into his hands.

Kurosaki was truly the most dangerous of all of them.

“Really, Kurosaki-san, you’ll make me blush. But I’m a busy man, I can’t train you all by myself,” he said, thinking of the list of tasks needed to prepare for war. Mayuri wouldn’t be enough, not to finish everything in time. Three months, Kisuke estimated to awaken the Hōgyoku. Three months, he estimated, for Aizen to develop an army that it would be difficult to defeat. A thousand plans depended on that estimate, just as the entire fate of the world did.

So he’d have to be done in one.

“We’ll have to recruit some help, to make it work in time.”

Kisuke had studied the effects of hollowfication better than any man alive, and knew the limits and potential better than any one else. He had helped Kurosaki stabilize, even if the boy didn’t know it yet.

_But you didn’t plan for it to be this strong, did you?_

Benihime’s voice swept into his mind as it always did; painful as a needle cracking open his bones. Kisuke smiled, the expression a shade too vicious. Kurosaki was famous for breaking limits, but Kisuke had sewn that into his plans too. The boy would grow strong, under his training.

This weapon to defeat Aizen would be honed to perfection, and Kisuke could even tell him the truth. Or, part of the truth.

The truth that was his to tell, at least.

“I don’t want you to just train me. I need to be stronger, need to control this. I am going to protect them,” Kurosaki said, and in the burning determination of his eyes the fear was bright and vicious.

_Even from myself_ , Kisuke heard, ghosting between them pale as the fingers Kurosaki had clenched on his sword.

“Very well,” Kisuke said at last, and watched those eyes flare like the sun. “I think I can manage that.”

That was the beginning of weeks of training and study. Kisuke pushed Kurosaki to the brink and over, again and again. Each time Kurosaki broke through to the other side, stronger and more determined than before. The visored helped too, switching out with Kisuke for a variety of battle patterns and skills.

Kisuke divided his attention in half, for Kurosaki. Half of his time he spent in the training grounds, honing the boy’s skills and studying every part of his power. The other half— the sleepless half, in the depths of night when Kisuke could sit alone— he spent in his lab, preparing for the coming war.

He watched the patterns on that hollow’s mask evolve and change, until the horns grew sharper and the feel of hollow reiatsu washed across the training grounds like an ocean come to erode them all away. He studied that too, recording each change and fluctuation in hungry power until a pattern emerged in his data.

Kisuke did not like where the evidence pointed, but Kisuke was a scientist. He wouldn’t run from the facts. 

Kurosaki was growing too strong.

And if each day, Kisuke grew a little fonder? If after each spar his shoulders felt looser, for all the war that approached with every moment? Well, that was for him to know, and Yoruichi to laugh at.

It didn’t matter. He would still stop Kurosaki, if the boy went too far.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hit me up on [my server](https://discord.gg/7tn2ywb) for prompts and general tomfoolery, and my [twitter](https://twitter.com/gotcocomilk) or [tumblr](https://thehoardofthegreatdragon.tumblr.com) for stupidity. 
> 
> I love hear if I wrote a particularly captivating or interesting line-- feel free to include it in a comment to feed your friendly neighborhood writing monster.


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